by Davina Stone
He nodded. “I get that. Investing too much energy in love.”
“Well, the wrong love, anyway.” She shifted her chin onto her cupped hands. “Do you think you know?” The glow in her eyes sent his temperature soaring. “When you meet someone? Like, do you think you can fall in love at first sight?”
Was she trying to tell him something? Or was it simply wishful thinking? He flailed around, trying to form a sentence that was both witty and wise. And promptly opened his mouth and fucked it up. “I wouldn’t have a clue. I’m the world’s biggest failure in the love stakes.”
And whoosh, just like that, the energy changed.
You could almost hear the music grinding to a slow and discordant halt. The guitar strings twanging as they snapped. A total A-grade disaster. The only way out of this was a subject change. He motioned desperately for the waiter. “I think we should look at the dessert menu, don’t you?”
For the rest of the meal he laughed, he talked—too much and too fast—and it felt like Judith was slipping away from him with every stupid word that came out of his mouth.
Misery settled heavy in his gut as she politely refused dessert. Instead, they shared a trendy pot of bitter-tasting green tea while he yabbered on about how the soundproofed panels in the restaurant made it easier to hear each other’s conversation. Only, what the fuck was the point of that when nothing you said was worth hearing?
As they stood outside the restaurant, he stared at the pavement and waited for the axe to fall.
Then Judith said, “Would you like to get a gelato?”
Carts’ head spiked up, a grin spreading across his face. “Gelato! That sounds like a plan.”
Judith smiled back, her eyes sparkling, and suddenly everything was right in the world.
“There’s the best place down on the quay.” She touched his arm; brief, yes, but enough to make his skin goosebump with anticipation. “Their gelatis are to die for.”
“Cool.” Inside Carts’ head, Spandau Ballet pitched in with the opening lines of “Gold”.
The gods of love had given him a reprieve.
Yep. Pure gold.
Chapter 5
“The white chocolate cherry delight is my favourite,” Judith heard herself chirp. Normally her mouth would be watering at the mere mention, but she wasn’t the slightest bit interested in the gelati. She wasn’t ready to say goodbye and if she didn’t do something, she had a hunch Carts was going to stare at his feet and let her drift away.
She knew the exact moment it happened. She’d got a bit too intense and scared him with her how-do-you-know-if-it’s-love question. The kiss last weekend had raised her expectations and—unusual for her—she’d let her heart get in the way of common sense.
So, as they’d both stood awkwardly outside the restaurant, she shoved her sensible occupational therapist hat firmly back on her head and tried to work out what she’d do if she was helping a patient plan a social outing.
She’d tell them to drop the expectations.
She’d tell them to go eat gelati, have fun.
And by the look on Carts’ face when she suggested it, either he did want to spend more time with her, or he was mad on gelati.
She sighed with relief when he grinned and said, “Sounds like a plan.”
“Have you seen the kiosk on the quay?” she asked. “It’s shaped like a diamond.”
“Oh,” a look of comprehension dawned, “is that’s what that thing is? Always wondered.”
“How could you not know it sold gelati?”
“You’re right. Very unobservant.” They fell into easy step now and it was so nice not to have to narrow her stride.
“I usually come to the quay and grab something to eat at lunch time,” Carts explained. “Then I walk over the bridge and watch the action on the river, so I never get as far as the kiosk. Besides, I don’t eat ice-cream much, you know, keeping healthy these days…” He gave his very flat stomach a pat.
Doubt encroached. “We don’t have to… if you’d prefer…”
He glanced down at her. Down. Oh, what a fantastic feeling!
“You want the truth?”
She peeked up at him from under her lashes. “Mmmm?”
“I’d eat glass shards if it meant spending more time with you.”
Delight rendered her speechless and, not knowing what else to do, she flipped her bag at his arm. “I’d never want you to do that. Just buy me a gelat0.”
“Small price to pay.” And now she sensed they were both grinning in the dark.
At the kiosk, Carts deliberated for ages on flavours, a fact that Judith could tell was driving the assistant to a needle point of frustration as the girl shoved the fourth taster at him.
“Maybe I’ll settle for French vanilla.” He cast her the same panicked look as when he’d been confronted with the wine menu earlier.
“The salted caramel is wonderful,” she murmured close to his ear. The smell of sandalwood cologne on warm male met her nostrils.
“Done!” He dragged out his wallet. “One salted caramel and one white chocolate cherry delight in a—?” When he glanced at her she could see there were actual caramel glints in his dark eyes.
“I’ll take a cup,” she answered weakly, feeling her body’s response in her tightening nipples.
“Righto. Both in cups,” Carts said gruffly to the assistant. A little muscle ticked in his jaw. She had the sudden urge to reach up and run her fingers around the short stubble and down his neck to where his unbuttoned shirt showed a glimpse of skin.
When he handed her the cup, she grasped it hard.
As they sat down on a bench overlooking the river, they both stretched their legs out.
Carts dug his spoon into his gelato. She twirled hers around and around and watched the cherry pieces glisten in the lights of the quay.
Carts let out a big sigh. “Don’t you love evenings like this?”
“So much. You can still see the glow from the sun, and it must have set an hour ago.”
“There’s really nowhere better,” Carts added.
“Have you ever wanted to live somewhere else?”
He put a spoonful in his mouth. “Yum,” he said, pointing at the little tub. “You were right, this is really good. I thought about getting a job in Melbourne, but you know, leaving family and friends didn’t appeal that much, and in the end, evidently, I stayed put. Not exactly Bear Grylls am I.”
“You just know what you want.”
He shrugged. “Maybe. And you?”
“Same. Looks like neither of us will make it onto the next series of Survivor.”
“Darn it. I was going to take you bungee jumping next time. Urm— if there is a next time?”
She gave him a playful nudge, felt him return the pressure and even that was enough to make her pulse hop and skip. “Only if you promise no bungee jumping.”
“Promise.”
A moment’s silence followed while they studiously spooned gelati into their mouths.
“I love boats,” Carts said, waving his spoon towards the expanse of water. “That’s why I come here really, to look at the boats.”
“Do you sail?”
“Nah, I did rowing at school for a while, but then I got back pain so I stopped and never caught up. Oh, and restless legs syndrome, which was all part and parcel of my crazy growth spurt. I still fidget, though I have to say yoga’s helped with that.”
He drew his legs in.
“There’s nothing to stop you learning now.”
“I guess you’re right. It’s weird how you tell yourself it’s too late to start new things.”
“It’s never too late,” she said, her heart aching at how this gorgeous guy had clearly limited himself with his beliefs. “I had a patient recently who’d always wanted to play chess, but spent his life telling himself he didn’t have the brain for it. We found him a local chess group. He’s eighty-four and sharp as a tack and he came in after winning his first game with the biggest sm
ile on his face.”
“That gives me hope I guess—at thirty.” He looked up from under ruffled brows, and as his lips quirked, little crinkles shunted around his eyes. “You’re so encouraging to be around.”
“Am I?”
“Yes, when I’m with you it feels like anything’s possible, you’ve got this energy, like you believe in me—in people, I mean generally, not just me.” He dug fast into his gelato and shovelled it into his mouth. It made her want to take the spoon and the cup and ditch them in the nearest bin then wrap her arms around him and…
“I do believe in people,” she said breathlessly. “You, especially.”
He gave a nervous laugh. Out the corner of her eye she saw his knee start to jiggle.
“Shall we walk?” he asked abruptly. Had she said something wrong? She’d never been this open about her feelings on a first date. Though, come to think of it, she’d never really had a first date as such.
“Okay,” she said and jumped up.
“Finished?” Carts held his hand out for her cup. She placed it in his and watched as he strode purposefully towards the bin. When he’d tossed them in, he came back and said, “I always notice where the bins are. I hate people who leave rubbish around. It’s so inconsiderate.”
She beamed. She’d spent her time clearing up after Mark, ditching his sweet wrappers, telling him to put things in recycling. It was a little thing, but maybe it was the little things that showed you that you were compatible. Putting the toilet seat down, the cap back on the toothpaste. “I agree,” she said, and as they headed off, she realised their feet were in perfectly synchronised steps. Their hands touched briefly as their arms swung and she thought how lovely it would be to link her fingers with his and stroll through the balmy evening hand in hand.
Would she dare? Take his hand first?
“Why don’t we walk over the bridge, and you tell me something about the boats,” she suggested.
He flicked her a surprised look. “You honestly want to know?”
“I honestly do.”
By now they’d walked across the footbridge, commenting on how pretty the lights around Elizabeth Quay were as they changed from blue to green to pink to mauve. They’d stopped a couple of times, turned back towards the city and he’d pointed out the building he worked in.
On the far side, they stood gazing across the expanse of water to the twinkling lights of south Perth.
Carts cast her a covert sideways glance.
Tendrils of hair had strayed across her cheek, courtesy of the evening breeze. She pushed them back from her face and put her hands on the railing. Tentatively, he placed his left hand next to hers.
Their pinkies touched. Sensation prickled up and down his spine, and then, because he was always on the alert for rejection, he panicked.
“See those red and green lights out there?” He lifted the hand that had been nudging hers and pointed to the middle of the river. “They’re called port and starboard markers.”
Her skirt rustled. Had she moved away? Damn!
“What are they for?” she asked.
“They’re for night-time navigation,” he croaked. “Boats go through the markers so they don’t hit a rock or a sand bank or something.” Meanwhile, his heart had capsized and was sinking into the briny depths. He’d given completely the wrong signal. Go away. Not come closer. How in shite’s name was he going to put this right?
“Oh, I see,” Judith said. He was almost certain she’d edged closer.
Put your hand back on the rail, you moron.
With superhuman effort he reeled in his arm. Phew, now his hand was next to hers. He willed his muscles to relax. “Yeah, in a boat you always pass to the right of a starboard light and to the left of a port light, kind of, but it’s a bit more complicated than that depending on whether you’re going upstream or downstream.”
By now he’d got his pinky to creep another agonising millimetre, and almost jumped as the edges of their hands came into contact. Neither of them moved.
“Like road rules but on water,” Judith observed.
“Yeah.”
It was now or never. Barely able to breathe, he lifted his hand and rested it gently over hers.
She shifted, as though about to tug her hand away.
Horror swamped him, an apology arcing up his throat, when suddenly her fingers curled around his. And squeezed.
Carts stared straight ahead until his eyes smarted. Holy freakin’ smoke. They were… they were actually holding hands.
Runnels of delight sped up his arm, down his spine and sent alarming cues south of his waist. Luckily his new jacket would hide the evidence. Except he’d look like a complete dork trying to tug his jacket round his groin and hold her hand at the same time. And then what? Like, they were only at the hand-holding stage. What would happen if they freakin’ kissed…?
Think of a blank screen.
He opened his mouth, tried to speak, but the trouble with blank screens was they cut off your access to words.
Luckily Judith asked, “So the green light is port?”
Somehow, he got his addled brain to form words. “Other way round. Green is starboard and red is port.”
Was his hand getting sweaty? Would that put her off?
“You know a lot about boating for someone who’s never sailed,” Judith said.
“My dad used to own a yacht when I was a kid, nothing swanky or anything, just a dinghy really with one sail and an outboard motor. Most Sundays in summer Mum would pack a picnic lunch, and we’d go out on the river, do a bit of fishing and crabbing and stuff.” Recalling those happier times loosened some of the tension in his muscles. And suddenly the reality of standing here holding Judith’s hand sank in like golden syrup on pancakes.
“What a great way to spend your childhood,” she mused. “My dad was always too busy with his building company to do things like that at weekends. Our idea of fun as kids was being taken to the newest display home. I remember one time Pippa scribbled all over the lounge room walls. I took the blame to stop her getting into trouble.”
“Seriously, that’s your most fun memory?”
“Probably not. It’s just a vivid one. Pip was only three. Dad didn’t believe me of course. I got told off for telling porky pies in front of a whole lot of home viewers.” She sighed. “I do have a tendency to rescue people.”
He glanced down at their joined hands, his big and bony knuckled, hers smooth-skinned and delicate, and fought the urge to shout, don’t rescue me. Don’t hold my hand because you feel sorry for me. Maybe Judith felt the energy in him shift because she glanced up. “It’s really lovely, being here with you.”
A frown of disbelief tugged at his eyebrows. “You’re not just saying that?”
Her lashes swept down in a blink. “Sorry?”
“This, urm, holding my hand. The kiss. The other night. It’s not about…” He stalled. Yep, his palms were definitely sweaty now.
She turned to face him. “About?”
“Being nice,” he spluttered. “Like, you’re a really kind person and I thought, maybe, you—”
“Why would you think that?” Her grip on his hand tightened and he clung on like a man drowning.
“No reason. I tend to say dumb things when I’m nervous,” he finished with downcast eyes.
Which was why he didn’t immediately notice Judith stepping closer until her hands were sneaking up his arms.
“Maybe we should kiss again,” she murmured. “To prove I’m not just being nice.”
Chapter 6
Judith sighed as his lips met hers. Their first kiss a week ago had been amazing. But this second one was even more heavenly, like falling into a bed of the sweetest, softest rose petals.
She let her arms creep around his waist, burrow under his jacket. He groaned against her mouth and his lips parted.
Vaguely she registered voices of people walking past, and realised they were right under the streetlamp. And because kissing in public plac
es was new territory, she pulled back.
He blinked at her, his gaze hazy. “Wow!” was all he said, but it was enough, in this moment, for Judith Mellors, all of twenty-nine years old, to realise how truly magical a kiss between two people could be.
She was about to throw caution to the wind and dive in for another when a group of kids walked past, laughing. Carts stiffened.
“There’s a quiet little spot just over here,” she whispered, weaving her fingers into his. “Perhaps we should go there.”
He nodded, so she led him down a winding path to her secret place. She often came and sat here at weekends, watching the water lap on the sandy river beach below, hidden from passers-by by a screen of grevilleas and eucalypts.
When she snuggled back into his chest he murmured against her ear, “Are you cold?”
“No, not cold. Just… kind of happy.”
Carts rested his chin gently on the crown of her head. “Me too.” A super-charged silence followed, his chest moving with his breath against hers, then he asked, “So you come here—like, on your own?”
“Mostly. Sometimes with Pippa.”
“Not with your ex?”
“No, not with Mark. He never liked walking much. Or being in nature. He’s heavily into computer games.”
“Oh right.” A pause. “If you don’t mind me asking. Is it…” She sensed his feet shift. “Is it, like properly over between you two?”
“Oh yes. Absolutely over.” She silenced the urge to tell him about Mark stealing her savings. That would mean more talking, and right now the mood was sensual and languorous, so why spoil something so special?
“You were with him a long time?”
“Twelve years.”
“Wow, that’s like loooong.”
“And you? With—” She knew the girl was called Lucy. Polly had mentioned it.